Ivory Road
by LawlessRuthlessHeartless
Summary: A life for a loaf of bread...  It only takes seconds.


**'Lo mates! How's it going? It's been a whie!  
>I decided to do a fanfiction for Haji's past, since there were none. I <em>cannot believe<em> nobody's written a fanfic about his tragic seperation from his parents yet. Well, perhaps there is one. But I've checked, and so far, I can't find anything. This guy needs more solo fanfictions (LOL, like I'm one to talk).  
>It's not that fluffy, but damn, it's angsty as hell. Ah, poor Haji. xD<strong>

**Enjoy. 3 **

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><p>"Mama?" The small, green-eyed boy said to the woman who strangely resembled him, her hair back in a loose french braid fastened with navy ribbons. She was buttoning his shirt for him, her eyes on the scratchy canvas fabric and rough wooden buttons rather than his questioning eyes.<p>

"Yes, Haji?" She replied in a quiet voice, fastening the last button and adjusting his collar. Her eyes remained on her own lithe, pale hands as the young boy tried to catch her eye. She couldn't have been over 30, and yet the man who had fathered the child stood outside tethering the horse: a man into his late fifties. Poverty could lead to the cruellest circumstances.

Snow drifted lazily to the ground surronding the older man, coating the branches of the birch trees that lined the straight road which stretched for hundreds of miles. The door to the tethered wagon house the boy and woman stood in was shut, although it was just as unforgivingly cold inside the tiny shack as it was in the frozen country outside. A candle lit the interior: shimmering, wavering, warm light that played on their faces and bodies.

"When are we going to leave Papa?" The boy asked. She met his eyes immediately, giving him a warning look. Her hands stiffened on his shirt collar. The man could overhear him- and if he ever heard such a thing, he would surely kill the boy. As she continued to look into his face, she remembered why she avoided making a habit out of observing him. She couldn't help but take note of the sadness that lingered in his appearance, his quiet disappointment with life. Most of the time, she chose to ignore this trait in her son. But yet she couldn't help but notice how it steadily intensified every day.

"I have told you never to mention that idea again, Haji..." She said, looking away again. "We are never going to leave Papa." He asked her that question every day, only to be told the same answer. _They would never leave until the day Papa died. _

Haji took on a mixture of young, headstrong determination and anger in his eyes, and she almost smiled at his will to enforce the impossible.

Almost.

She rose from her knees to fetch his thin cloak from the hook by the door, grasping the plain black fabric. Much was plain about the familie's tattered garments, of the few they had. She turned back to the young boy, bending gently to one knee before him as she swung the cloak onto his shoulders. The flourishing movements with which she did everything never failed to make Haji stare in admiration, wishing he could be half as graceful. At his young age, he felt clumsy and unorthodox.

They both paused to listen to the sudden sound of hoofprints and wheels, penetrating the heavy silence of the white road outside.

The woman ignored it after just a moment, dismissing it as a passing merchant and turning back to the boy. His hair hung loose and unrestrained down his shoulders, wavy and black like her own. It gleamed dully in the candlelight, framing his face and hanging down in strands to shield his eyes. She had not the time to move any more. The sound of a gruff voice stopped her from finally fastening his cloak, freezing them both in place.

The snorting of more horses outside and the harsh sounds of men's boots against snow and ice were now present, clearly heard through the thin walls.

"Boleyn. Come here." She could not ignore him when he had asked her so directly. He called for his wife only when he had need of her, but he rarely called her by _name_. Most often, she was referred to as 'woman', or 'wench'... Something was different this time.

"Stay here, Haji. I will return shortly." He nodded submissively, as he always did. Haji was never unpredictable. He did as was told. The wooden door creaked open with a blast of crisp winter air and his mother climbed carefully down the beaten, rusty steps, wrapping the thin shawl around her shoulders closer. He listened to the soft thud as she halfway jumped from the bottom step to the ground, door slamming shut behind her.

Haji stood alone in the wagon, waiting. He forgot about the little cloak round his shoulders, stepping gently towards the candle that lit the one room. Little did he realize, he poscessed hints of the very grace he so much admired in his mother-and he showed it in the way he walked. Cupping his fingers around the flame, he knelt before it, appreciating the warmth of the small fire.

He had burned himself many a time by putting his hands too close, as he often let his mind wander and his hands would drift towards the flame. His eyes focused on the shortening wick, following the droplets of wax that slid quickly down the candle.

He lost track of how much time had passed, whether it had been minutes or seconds; although a sudden _SLAM_ that rocked the wagon nearly forced him forward onto the candle, singing his cupped palms instead of searing his chest. He stilled in shock for a moment, looking around himself. He straightened. Although rather than watching the candle again, he crawled quietly to the door.

Peering through one of the larger cracks beneath, he saw his mother attempting to rise, his father standing over her. Her breathing came in short gasps as she attempted to fill her crushed lungs with air again, one hand on the rusty footstep, her frail body bent double. Haji's fists clenched as he forced himself to stay still and not run outside and interfere.

His father was a rough-looking man, tall, with an unshaven face and stained, ill-fitting clothes. Haji hated him with a passion. He was not yet strong enough to even faze this man slightly, let alone defeat him in a fight. Haji stood up, deciding he didn't want to listen anymore. It scared him, this situation. It made him feel small. He softly brushed himself off.

"You'll fetch the boy, and you _will_ hand him over." The door was opened suddenly. In seconds, he was on the ground in much the same state as his mother had been, breathless, his towering father standing above him. "Get up." He struggled to his feet as his father watched his mother avidly. He was making sure she didn't help.

Clutching his stomach, Haji looked up to his father with a look of loathing. The guesture of hatred was returned in his father's similar eyes. Haji's mother took one look at them both.

"Jareth, _please, no-_" He slapped her.

"Would you have us all starve?" This was happening too fast for Haji to process. They were giving him away? To who?

"He's my _child_." She said, kneeling and wrapping her arms protectively around him. The man's eyebrows lowered further.

"He's another mouth to feed." Her eyes teared up.

"He's _your son._" She whispered, giving him a single, last, desperate look. He paused for a moment. The fact had disarmed him. And for several seconds, tension ran like electricity between the three of them... A family. They stood, united, in the snow. Distorted as they were, it was the only moment Haji's father ever felt a flicker of warmth for his wife and son.

Footsteps drew quickly close, and a man in a wine-hued suit turned the corner of the wagon, interrupting the moment. His expression remained bored, made of stone. "We don't have all day." He said, his voice a mixture of velvet and sandpaper.

The tension was broken. The flame of warmth was extinguished.

Haji's father looked from the new, strange man to his family, cowering before him, pleading to keep their broken life. His cold green eyes narrowed.

"I've had enough of your damned sentimentality, woman." Without another word, he turned to the velvet-voiced man.

"He's yours. Go on and take him." And with that, husky, unfamiliar man snapped his gloved fingers and two men in black cloaks stepped in quickly, rushing for Haji.

"Mama!" He cried. One of the cloaked men gripped his arm with force, wrenching it away from his mother's embrace. She tried desperately to hold on to him, screaming, crying. It was no use. She had no strength.

"_I WON'T LET YOU TAKE HIM!_" The words were torn, ripped from her throat. She held on.

"Mama, save me! Don't let me go!" Haji's was red in the cheeks, tears streaming down his face and surprised, frightened sobs choking him. The men gave another tug and Haji's mother lost her last inch of fabric on his cloak, and he lost his handful of her dress sleeve. And with one last, desperate grab, he reached for her thick braid of hair, managing only to grasp one of the strings woven inside.

With a great wrench, it came loose, and she cried out in pain and agony.

"HAJI!" She screamed one last time, getting up. Sobs scratched her voice, making it rougher. It was clear she was going after him.

The movement was sharply stopped as Haji's father roughly pushed her into the side of the wagon house, shouting as he did so. The thin wood broke with a great crack, and she fell limply to the snowy road beneath, eyes closed, rosy lips slightly parted. A gash was on her forehead. Blood began to stain the snow.

"MAMA!" Haji cried one last time, to no avail. His voice echoed in the birch trees, his only answer. The men dragged him through the snow, boot-clad feet in a frenzy of kicking and resistance. They roughly threw him into the back of the fancy wagon, swearing at his cries of sorrow. He was told to shut up.

His wails quieted, although the tears and rough sobs did not stop.

It only took seconds. With the sway of people climbing on and the crack of a whip, the ebony horses took off at a brisk trot down the ivory road. Haji looked through a clear, polished window. His father was wrapping a loaf of bread... And his mother lay still in the snow, growing smaller by the moment.

He pressed a small, pale hand on the glass, a single navy ribbon hanging from the gap between his thumb and finger.

"_Mama..._"

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><p><strong>She's not dead, jus' sayin'. Dead parents are extremely boring. She's just really badly cut. xD and now the wagon has a huge hole in the side of it.<strong>

**So... Yeah! Thanks for reading! ^-^**


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